


Doctors and Dames

by IJustMetAGirlNamedMaria (orphan_account)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Acab but for gay reasons, F/F, Farm girl/rich girl, Gals being pals. Pals being gals, Jane Austen Levels of Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Nonbinary Character, Original Fiction, POV Lesbian Character, Trans Female Character, Vintage gender dysphoria, Yes they are in love but whose going to tell them. They don't know, they're gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27809887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/IJustMetAGirlNamedMaria
Summary: This is an original work set in the late 1800s. It follows two girls, Joan and Rosemary.Rosemary is an aspiring Doctor, and wants to attend a convention in the city, but she needs a male chaperone. To solve the issue of the lack of men in her life, she dresses up her best friend in drag. Shenanigans ensue
Kudos: 2





	Doctors and Dames

Joan liked feeding chickens. The slight scent of pine and the cool breeze from the forest at the edge of the farm was almost enough to take her away. It was the quietest part of her day, despite the chatter of the animals. Just far enough from the big house and just near enough to the forest that the sounds all mixed to white noise. No one would call for her, or need her here, just for a moment. She scattered the feed into the chicken yard.  
It was a bright fall morning. The chicken house stood just tall enough to block out the last bit of summer sun. She tucked a stray curl back into her braids, frowning like it was a pesky fly that wouldn’t leave her alone.   
She looked into the distance, to the edge of the forest, waiting for a moment. There was only one person in the world who was allowed to disturb this part of her day. She exhaled, trying to ease herself out of the anticipation. She turned her attention back to the chickens, trying not to feel disappointed.  
Just then, as if on cue, Rosemary darted out of the forest, her fiery mess of red braids flickering behind her. Her face shined pink. She flung herself on one of the old crates outside the shed, sighing dramatically.  
"I hate this world!"  
She moaned, posing like a wronged woman in a renaissance painting.   
Joan didn't look up from the chickens she was feeding. Grinning, so that her friend couldn’t see, she said,  
"Hi Rosey."  
Rosemary looked up. Her auburn hair had somehow collected bits of dirt and sticks, but she didn't seem to mind. Her dress was already dirtied from the mile walk from her house. She abused the lack of distance regularly. Rosemary knew her schedule, and seemed to appear with some woe or another at this time at least once a week. Rosemary wrinkled her nose, drawing her hand away from her forehead.  
"Aren't you going to ask?"  
"You're going to tell me either way."  
Rosemary sat up straight. The pocket watch that hung from her belt jingled.  
"As you know it's my life's ambition to become a doctor."  
"Naturally." Joan scattered the feed into the yard.  
"I have the opportunity to attend a convention for young prospective doctors in Northway. Which is only about an hour by train plus one by carriage.” She ticked off these details on long, bony fingers. “Unfortunately, my dimwit cousin left for London and I have no other men in my life capable enough to accompany me, which is bogus anyway that I need an escort. I’m fifteen! Women are perfectly capable of not getting into trouble!” She explained animatedly to a chicken.  
"You are incapable of not getting into trouble."  
"That has nothing to do with my gender. It's a stupid and misogynistic rule."  
Rosemary huffed. Her face was already pink from her run, and it was now bright red with righteous rage. Her freckles disappeared when she got angry, which was part of the reason she did it so often.  
“I thought your cousin was staying for a while.”  
“Me too.”  
"Well, whenever you come up with an inevitable scheme, I will help." Joan said, finally turning her full attention to her. Rosemary met Joan’s smile with a furrowed brow.  
"That's the issue, I'm out of ideas!"  
"No you aren't."  
"I am!"  
"Remarkable. A very first ever in our entire lives of knowing each other that you didn't have a scheme at play." Joan said sarcastically, dodging a chicken that was attempting to peck her leg through the wire fence. She emptied the bag of feed into the chicken coop. Just as Joan sat with a world weary sigh, Rosemary jumped to her feet. She declared into the sky,  
"I wish women were treated with the dignity of men! Then I could study medicine freely and take the train without an escort!"  
"And wear pants!" Joan laughed, still seated. Rosemary looked down, frowning.  
"Honestly I'm fine with skirts. They're very stylish, quite breezy. You can wear pants, though."  
"As I will, in this alternate universe."  
"No unsolicited comments!" Rosemary motioned for Joan to stand up, which she did reluctantly.  
“Job opportunities?”  
“Job opportunities! What would you be, if you were treated as a boy?”  
Joan paused, then, match gusto, she announced,  
“A farmer!”  
Rosemary frowned.  
“What about your stories? Wouldn’t you be a writer?”  
Joan laughed.  
“Stop hypothetically telling me what to do.”  
“I’m serious!” She laughed. She continued, more earnestly, “When I try to write I lose track of the point and trip over myself, but your stories are fantastic! They’re clean, concise, interesting. They’re just as good, if not better than the things in the paper.”  
Joan scoffed. “No they aren’t-”  
Rosemary grabbed her by the shoulders. Joan tensed at the sudden proximity.  
“You should get published. I demand it. You have got to write!” She said, earnestly.  
“I-I don’t have a story good or short enough, or any ideas.” She stuttered, feeling put on the spot. “I draw from real life and nothing ever happens.”  
Rosemary considered this, letting go of Joan’s shoulders.  
“You’ll come up with something I’m sure. If you were a man you’d be famous already!” She pointed her finger, accusatory, in Joan’s face. Joan gently pushed it away.  
“If I were a man I would still be a farmer. It’s a matter of wealth, not talent.”  
Rosemary’s family were traders. Joan didn’t think she realized that the very dirtied dress on her back was worth more money than she would ever hold in her two hands. Joan sat down.  
“How about this. You write a story, and I’ll send it in. Use all my own money, and pay you for it.”  
Joan shook her head.  
“I’m not taking your money.”  
“It would be a commission.” Rosemary sat down next to her.  
Joan didn’t look her in the eyes, knowing that if she did, she’d do anything Rosemary asked. Joan sighed, relenting.  
“Fine. Only if I find something worth writing about.”  
Rosemary smiled.  
“Deal.”  
She stuck out her hand. Joan shook it, rolling her eyes. Even so, a slight smile tugged at her lips.  
“If you were a man, you’d be a fine farmer who also wrote stories. A regular Dickens.”  
Joan smiled reluctantly.  
“If you were treated as a man, you’d be an apprentice to Elizabeth Blackwell.” Joan said, bumping her shoulder.  
Rosemary sighed happily, her hand clutching her heart.  
“I love her.”  
“I know you do.”  
“Did you know-”  
“That she was the first woman to ever graduate medical school in the United States? Yes I do, you tell me about once a week.”  
“Yes but also-”  
“Also other women had most likely graduated before her, only they disguised themselves as men, one such person being the inventor of the C section? I wonder if your father ever regrets getting you that book.” Joan laughed.  
Rosemary’s grin faded slightly. She looked to the forest, as if she could peer through all the trees and miles to see him.  
“Maybe. He isn’t strong enough to talk these days.”  
Before Joan could respond, Rosemary’s face lit up again.  
“I have an idea!” She said, putting her hand on Joan’s knee. Joan looked down at it.  
“Meet me here tomorrow morning!”  
Joan looked at her blankly. Rosemary stood up. Joan followed her.  
“Tell them I need you for an errand, I’ll pay you accordingly. It’ll be something to write about, come on, just trust me.”  
She looked down at her pocket watch.   
“I have to go. Dad will be waking up soon. Goodbye!”  
“Bye.” Joan said. She stood there for a moment, watching her friend run off into the woods, the remnants of a smile lingering. She shook her head and headed back to the main house for the rest of her chores.  
***

The next day, Joan shivered, cold from the silence. It was the first day this year she could see her own breath. The quiet stretched, covering every inch of the land like an early fall mist that left dew on the grass. She tucked her hands in the pockets of her skirt.  
The situation didn’t take much explanation to her parents. She looked back at the quiet house, half hoping for her mom to run out to yell at her. It wasn’t the punishment that she wanted exactly, more the assurance that her parents noticed at all. She looked back at the treeline, just in time to see Rosemary come into view, jogging down that well worn path.  
Her hair was done up under a broad sunday hat. A large black coat drowned her figure. She held a massive bundle in her arms, and a big purse swung from the crook in her elbow. It all seemed too big for her, like she was a child drowning in her mother’s clothes. She stopped for a moment to catch her breath, before saying with a wide grin,  
“Hello! Take off your clothes!”   
“Excuse me?”   
Rosemary laughed, high and rich.  
“No! To put on these! You’re my escort!” She grinned, quite pleased with herself. Joan examined the bundle closer. A pair of worn grey slacks sat over a black men’s jacket. She sighed, briefly questioning her life decisions. The jacket looked warm. She took the bundle carefully out of Rosemary’s arms, like a baby she didn’t want to wake up, and went into the shed.  
Shivering in the cold air, thick with the smell of feathers and hay, she examined the pile. She let out a sharp laugh. Rosemary had included men’s underwear, and a long piece of cloth, written with the words “For chest binding!” Joan supposed a corset wouldn’t be ideal in this situation. She completely undressed as quickly as she could. She put on the underwear, then the wrappings carefully. Something stopped her from asking Rosemary to help her. The slacks fit remarkably well, as long as she tied a piece of string at her waist and rolled the ends. She clumsily buttoned the shirt, and the vest over it. The buttons were on the wrong side. She cursed as she did them again. She tied the tie in the same manner that she did the rope for horses. The jacket ended in the front just above her hips and ended in the back just above her knees, effectively hiding her figure. Rosemary had thought of everything. Finally, she stuffed her hair under the soft, worn grey cap, so that the ends stuck out like bangs. She didn’t own a mirror. She looked down at herself and felt a strange, potent emotion overtake her. Her head, on the body of a young man. She felt strange, a child in adult clothing. She adjusted the cuffs of her jacket, flexing her fingers. Yes, if only women were treated like men. She would never dress any different. She checked her collar, running her fingers along her jaw. She tilted her head, picturing herself as the young boy she surely looked like. She could look in the mirror and see someone else look back at her. She felt like she had shed her skin. Joan didn’t look at the dress, soft and familiar on the floor, as she left, as if when she did, she’d be possessed to put it back on and never take it off. She’d wear it again at the end of the day. The idea made her skin crawl. The door creaked as she stepped into the sun. Rosemary leaned up against the chicken house, looking at her watch.  
“Took you long enough,” She said, snapping it closed.  
She turned, and for a moment Joan lost all the air in her lungs.   
Rosemary was wearing a blue silk dress, her hair up save for a few stray curls that fell around her face, softening the look. She wore a broad Sunday hat that encircled her head, held on by two silver hat pins. The dress was a soft blue silk at the top, and a deep midnight velvet in the skirt. Lace began at her neck, and traveled down, forming a V shape at her chest. She looked so tall. Joan had always known her friend was beautiful, but every time she was reminded of it, it felt like a revelation. Maybe it was the fact that she looked like she knew it, for the first time. She looked like a woman. They stared at each other, two strangers, two children in adult clothes. Rosemary’s face was so still, as she looked over Joan.  
“I knew it.” She whispered. The cold caught her exhale, turning it to steam.  
“Knew what?”  
She looked up.  
“It fits.” She smiled, in a teasing way. The tension broke like silence. Joan smiled back at her.  
“You clean up nice. You look almost respectable.”  
“Well you look like quite the handsome young man.”  
Joan tilted her shoulders, striking a pose. It was strange, but there was confidence in the moment. Like heat from a warm drink, spreading in her chest. Rosemary laughed. She looked Joan up and down again with crinkled eyes, catching on her tie. She frowned, stepping closer. The frost covered grass crushed under her step.  
Joan wasn’t sure if it was the stillness of the morning or the loud tempo of her heartbeat that made it pound in her ears. She held her breath, suddenly afraid that it smelled. Rosemary untied the tie, and carefully redid it. She was wearing a light layer of powder on her face. She smelled like bandoline hair product. Sweet and alcoholic.  
“I don’t know how on earth you managed to square knot a bowtie.” She murmered. Her voice was quiet, as if out of respect for the silence, or maybe their proximity. Her lips were chapped, under a thin layer of pink rouge. She smoothed out the tie. Their eyes met for a moment. Blue. Rosemary’s eyes were blue. She pulled her hand away slowly. She stepped back, after a moment.  
“There is a carriage meeting us a half mile from here, shall we walk?”  
She put out her arm, smiling in her crooked way. Joan straightened her spine and took it, linking at the elbows.  
***

They walked a few feet apart on that misty dirt road. Rosemary walked carefully, to not let the dew ruin her dress. She usually ran ahead, unconcerned. The tempo had changed. She stumbled, kitten heels catching a pothole. She grabbed Joan’s shoulder, steadying herself. She regained her balance, tisking. Their shoulders brushed together.  
“When did you get shorter than me?” Rosemary accused her.  
“I’m not the one responsible. You grew.”  
“How dare you. You shrank. You were taller than me when we met.” She flicked Joan’s hat, smirking. Joan straightened it.  
“Things have changed I guess.” She said.  
Rosemary glanced at her.  
“I guess.”  
There was a moment of silence. Rosemary stopped next to an old growth tree. The day had warmed a little, but Joan was grateful for the jacket. The roots of the tree podruded from the ground. Joan sat on one that was almost chair height.   
“The driver should be here soon, and remember, you’re a boy.” Rosemary’s eyes kept glancing at the distance, to where the road curved. Her hands twisted at the lace on her sleeves.  
“It’ll be ok, Rosey.”  
“I know. I’m just nervous is all.”  
“We’re gonna get to the convention, alright?”  
Rosemary stopped.  
“Your voice! It’s too high!”  
Joan coughed.  
“How do you do ma’am?” She said, forcing her voice down an octave. Rosemary chuckled, in the fluttering way she only did when she was nervous.  
“Let me do the talking, alright?”  
Joan rolled her eyes.   
“I don’t know, are you sure you can manage being a proper lady for a day?”   
Rosemary waved away the insult.  
“Please. I’m trained in society. I have been since I was six, you met my mother. I know the rules, I just chose not to follow them.”  
In the distance, the carriage pulled up.  
“Sure.” Joan said, drawing it out.  
Rosemary glared at her, but it was more a look of challenge than malice. The carriage rounded the corner, the squeak of the wheels breaking the quiet of the morning. Rosemary drew herself up. In that moment, she became unrecognizable. Her smile dropped, her eyes grew bored. She nodded haughtily to the driver, an older man with a shock of white hair peeking under his bowlers hat, which he tipped in acknowledgement.   
“Ms. Jaylock.”  
Rosemary smiled at him. It was different from her normal wide, crooked grin. It was small, and stiff. It was so rare to see Rosemary do anything out of courtesy.  
“Henry.”  
“What a handsome boy, is this your cousin?”  
Rosemary’s shoulders dropped a small amount in relief, and a genuine smile almost retook her lady like persona. Then, like powder over flushed cheeks, her face regained its stillness.  
“No, merely a friend.” Her country accent had slipped away, evey syllable pronounced perfect. Joan glanced at her, stifling a look of disbelief. Rosemary winked. Joan looked back at the driver.  
“Whats’er name, boy?”  
“Jo-” Joan began, realizing midway through her mistake. “Seph. Joseph” She coughed.  
The driver frowned. Joan’s hands shook from the secret.  
“Alright.”  
Rosemary smacked her arm as they got on the carriage, but when Joan turned around, her smile, the real, crooked one, was back.  
They sat on the furnished seats, a few inches apart. The leather was cool, Joan could feel it through her jacket. Rosemary arranged her long limbs haphazardly to fit in the small space, still somehow ending up in a place of composure.  
“Quite the performance, Ms. Jaylock.” Joan teased. Rosemary’s eyes grew wide.  
“He can hear us.” She whispered.  
“Oh. Sorry.”  
“It's ok.” After a moment, she lifted her chin, with a smug smile. “Thank you. Never doubt me again.” She said, pointing her finger to enunciate the point.  
“Wasn’t planning on it.” Joan whispered, laughing.  
There was a moment of easy silence.  
“I like your dress.” Joan said, at normal volume. Rosemary looked up, but rather than reprimand her, she smiled softly.   
“It was my mother’s. I wasn’t expecting it to fit.”  
“You look nice in it. You actually look a little like her.”   
Rosemary drew herself up, grinning at the compliment.  
“You think?”  
“Yeah. You’ve got her hair. And her nose, too, kinda.”  
Rosemary breathed the memory in.  
“It was the only adult dress I had, really.” She smoothed the skirt.  
“Where’d you get my suit?”  
Rosemary’s eyes snapped up. She silently gestured to the driver. Joan had forgotten the charade, briefly.  
“Um, I mean last Christmas. When you gave it to me.” Joan said louder.  
Rosemary winced.  
“My cousin left it at our house, and the jacket is my fathers.”  
She whispered.  
“Ah. Thank you.”  
“You can keep it.”   
Joan looked up, grinning. Maybe she could wear this suit forever, be this person forever. Rosemary wasn’t looking at her. Her brow was furrowed, and she picked at her lace sleeves.  
“My cousin’s going back to London soon and my father won’t wear it again.”  
“Well why not?” Joan asked softly. She wasn’t sure whether she should take her hand to comfort her. Joan put her hands in her pockets.  
“Well, there's no reason for him to stay. He was just coming to say goodbye to dad, and now he can go.” She stated it so matter of factly, Joan almost didn’t notice her red eyes.  
“It’s fine. I prefer your company to his, anyway.” Rosemary said, knocking her shoulder with hers.   
***

They arrived after an hour-long ride, spent mostly in silence fueled partly by the earliness of the morning, and partly by lack of privacy. There was only so much they could say, without giving away the facade.  
Rosemary inhaled as she stepped out of the carriage, breathing in the thick, crowded air of the train station. She grinned back at Joan, who stood at the door of the carriage, awestruck, at the sight of the train station.The ornate ceilings seemed to stretch forever. This station seemed somehow taller than the sky they had left behind. She felt so small, against it. Suddenly she didn’t want to leave the carriage, hands gripping the wood frame.  
“Quit gawking, Jo, we have a train to catch.” Rosemary said, checking her watch. She looked up and their eyes met. Rosemary’s expression softened. She offered her hand. Joan looked around at the station and down at her hand. Such a small thing in this huge world. She took it, stepping down slowly and carefully.  
Joan didn’t let go until her feet were firmly planted. She shoved her hands in her pockets, trying to make sense of such a huge space. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and the scream of the train. Joan breathed in, then out. It tasted like cigar smoke.  
“It was just built last year.” Rosemary grinned, looking at the station as if she had designed it herself.   
“It really is beautiful.”   
Rosemary smiled, wide and closed mouthed. Keeping her eyes on the station, she pulled Joan's hand out of her pocket, taking it into hers. She grinned at Joan.  
"Come on," she said, pulling her gently. When she got Joan's look of approval, in the form of an eye roll, she began pulling her through the station, picking up speed until they were pushing through the crowds. Her hand was soft, save for calluses on her fingertips, but her grip was firm.  
Rosemary said all the right words on the way, handing the money over. It was like she was speaking another language. When she smiled at Joan, she smiled back. Joan looked away as the ticket money was being exchanged. It felt wrong, to bear witness to a transaction when she had never owned a dollar in her life. Strangers stood in line, each going about a normal day. Rosemary’s thumb brushed her knuckles, and she led her on the train. She let go, for a moment, to give her ticket to the driver. Joan flexed her fingers in the cold air. She put her hands in the pants pockets.  
“Jo, lead me to my seat.” She hissed. Joan walked through the train. The ceilings were lower here, and less ornate. Nobody paid them any attention. Joan picked an empty, fraying green leather seat towards the back.  
“Miss Rosemary.” She said in her deepest voice, offering the seat. Rosemary nodded very seriously, suppressing a smile and plopped down by the window. Joan sat down next to her.  
“What do we do now?”  
Rosemary shrugged.  
“We wait.”  
And so they did. The train took another ten minutes to move. Joan watched the people on the train, listening to the chatter of the strangers that evaded the air. A mother comforted a crying baby. A young man read a newspaper. An old married couple whispered to each other. She had never been surrounded by so many strangers before.   
She looked over at Rosemary, who was rummaging in her purse.  
“What’s in there?”  
Joan asked. Rosemary shrugged. Joan peered in.  
“Is that… medical tape?”  
“It helps to be prepared!” Rosemary said, defensively.  
Joan laughed.  
“When are we going to need medical tape, willow leaf, is that a water swig? You do realize they’ll have all this at the convention.”  
“I know. Shut up.”   
“What is this convention anyway?”  
Rosemary’s face lit up.  
“I’m so glad you asked. It’s all for young doctors, right? They’re discussing how the field is changing. All the good colleges will be there, it's an excellent networking opportunity! And I’ll be able to meet young potential doctors, discuss medicine…” She sighed. “It's going to be capital.”  
The train began to move, first with a shriek of the whistle, then the rumble of the wheels. Rosemary looked out the window, into the distance, like if she could see the city, she could pull it closer. Joan looked over her shoulder. The view was still so crowded with steam that all she saw were their own faces looking back.  
Rosemary had a long, sharp nose and thin face, all splattered with freckles. When her face was still like this, she looked like an old portrait of a queen. Joan used to look at the recreations in books Rosemary would give her and wonder what they really looked like, because no one is that beautiful. It's against the rules to touch the paintings in museums. They’re so old, they might fall apart if you touched them. Their cheeks were a few inches apart, shoulders brushing.  
Joan had a strong jaw and brown eyes under dark, thick eyebrows. She tilted her head, examining herself. Without her hair at her sides, she really did look like a boy. She straightened her tie, smiling. The action felt so adult. Her eyes met Rosemary’s in the reflection. She couldn't tell if it was the new look, or that Rosemary was really, looking at her, but for one of the first times in her 15 years, she felt pretty. She smiled.  
“You look nice, with short hair. Sort of a leading man’s look.” Rosemary said.  
Joan grinned.  
“You think? I’ve always kind of wanted it.”  
Rosemary turned away from the window to look at her.  
“So what’s stopping you? Your parents?”  
Joan laughed.  
“I don’t think they’d care.”  
“Then what's the issue?"  
Joan shrugged.  
“I’m just not spontaneous, like you.”   
“What if…” A mischievous smile broke on Rosemary’s face. “What if I just got some gum in it. Or I accidentally burned it off?”  
She tugged at a stray hair that had fallen out of the cap.  
Joan laughed.  
“It would hardly be the leading man's look, then.” Rosemary grinned.  
“It would be very modern.”  
“What, the burned look?”  
“Sure! It's all the rage in Paris.” She giggled.  
`”Well you know me. Always with the european fashions.”  
“Indeed you are. Here, let me fix you up.” She laughed. She tucked the stray hair back into Joan's cap. Her fingertips just brushed Joan’s ear. She hadn't looked away, her hand hovering for a second. The feeling of her hand lingered.  
Joan looked down.  
“Is that a copy of Huckleberry Finn in your bag?”  
Rosemary pulled it out, but held it protectively to her chest.  
“I’m still reading it.”  
“Can one of us start from the beginning, aloud?” Rosemary’s face brightened.  
“That’s a wonderful idea!”  
She opened the book, leaning her head on Joan’s shoulder.  
“Chapter one. YOU don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter…”  
***

They were almost halfway done with the book by the time the train screeched to a halt. Rosemary’s theatrical style translated well into reading aloud. Her voice was low and dramatic. She talked purposefully higher than where her voice naturally landed, and it gave a practiced, almost hypnotic, edge to her words. It was only when she stopped reading that Joan looked up.  
“You did not fall asleep!” Rosemary accused her.  
“You’re right, I didn’t.”   
Joan straightened her jacket as she stood up. Rosemary rolled her eyes, using Joan’s elbow to pull her out of her seat. She brushed past her. Standing in the aisle, she offered her arm.  
“Come, the world awaits.” She said. Her tone was theatrically annoyed, but her eyes sparkled with adventure as she glanced at the train station through the window. She looked back at Joan, offering her hand, which Joan took gladly.  
This station was somehow more impressive than the other one, if a bit older. Joan couldn’t see the ceiling through the thick layer of smoke. People shouted all around. The noise was spectacular.   
“Welcome to the city!” Rosemary announced, like she was the mayor presenting her town. Joan grinned. Rosemary had really only been there a few times, but she charged ahead through the crowds, with Joan at her arm.  
The city itself seemed to be in constant motion, like the gears of a machine, knashing and spitting together. There was so much to pay attention to. Joan turned to Rosemary.  
“So what first?” Rosemary pulled out her watch, which had been tucked expertly in the sash around her waist.  
“Well, the convention is at 3, and it’s eleven right now. We’ll be in line for about two hours.”  
“What do we do for two hours until then?”  
“Well what do you want to do? It’s your first time in the city.”  
Joan looked around. Every window advertised a different spectacle. One showed the painting of a couple sipping tea across from each other. Joan suddenly realized she hadn’t eated since before sunrise that morning.  
“I’ve always wanted to go to tea,” She confessed.  
Rosemary smiled slowly.  
“I know a good place.”  
***

The tea shop looked like it was out of a fairy tale. The walls were powder blue, hung with colorful portraits and plates. The place was full with young couples, having quiet conversations. Joan looked around, observing the scene with interest. Rosemary, however, seemed more interested in Joan’s reaction to the place than the shop itself. She watched her, even as she found them an empty table by the window. She sat carefully. It was as of the place, or maybe she, was shatterable.  
She moved like she was being watched. The Hyde to her Jekyll had emerged again, this careful womanly persona. Joan watched, as fascinated as she was unsettled. She felt ungrooomed and wild next to her. She was still the oldest child of a farmer in a rich man’s clothes, but Rosemary was as much this high society lady as she was the girl that had interrupted her chores yesterday. Rosemary’s hands folded elegantly in her lap, a bit of dirt still lingering under her fingernails. They sat there for a moment, silent in the noise of the shop, observing each other.  
“Stop staring.” Rosemary commanded, but the edges of her lips fought a smile.  
“You’re staring back.” Joan said. She meant it defensively but it came out soft.  
A smile teased Rosemary’s lips. She looked around.  
“What do you think about all of this?”   
Joan’s gaze was focused on Rosemary.  
“It's beautiful.”   
Rosemary tilted her head back, absorbing the reaction.  
“Huh.”  
“You disagree?”  
Rosemary looked at her, almost apprehensive.  
“Do you know what this represents, Jo?”  
She gestured vaguely to the teashop. Her hand twirled loosely in the air, as if she was indicating the very air they breathed.  
“No.”  
“Come on, Dickens, it's not like you to not get the metaphor.” She said, her voice light with humour.  
“High society? Classism? Wealth? No, one of the sins maybe,” Joan teased, rapid fire. Rosemary interrupted her.  
“What types of people are here?”  
“Um. Couples.” Joan’s face felt hot again.  
“Specifically?”  
Joan examined the people in the shop.  
“Young, white, rich couples.”  
Rosemary nodded.  
“You know I’ve been here three times in the last six months? Each time with a different male suitor that some aunt or another overseas picked out for me to marry.” The humour was gone from her voice. She didn’t look in Joan’s direction. “It's all for nothing, and they don’t even know it. I’ll never be able to actually get married, but I’m sitting here, playing the part of the woman. I've had to sit through a half a dozen boring suitors that I don’t want and can’t have.” She looked around the room with a disgusted air of longing.  
“Sure you could, If you found a guy that was ok with it all.”  
Rosemary shook her head, turning back to look at Joan.  
“I guess. You’re missing the point. I don’t want that life, anyway but that’s what this tea shop is, at least to me. It’s all the rules I’ve ever had to learn just to be respected. I’ve had to work so hard to be considered a real woman, and all they ask of me is complacency. And to sit still when there's a man. And to be silent.”  
“So the metaphors misogyny then. Gender as a whole.”   
Rosemary chuckled, but it came out more as a sigh.  
“This shop misunderstands what it is to be a man and to be a woman. I think women are so much more than this, so much more than what we’re asked of. So even though I am a woman, I’m still being asked to pretend I’m a lady. I hate it here.”  
Joan looked around at the pastel aesthetic and back at Rosemary.  
“Why are we here, then?”  
Rosemary paused, gazing at Joan.   
“Because I wanted to know how it felt, to sit across from someone that I chose. Who I didn’t have to pretend with.” For the first time, Joan couldn’t quite read her eyes. Before she could stop herself, Joan blurted,  
“I feel like that all the time. Like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.”  
Rosemary tilted her head.  
“Do you feel you’re a man?”  
Joan hesitated. “Not really. It’s just nice to be treated like one. I just wish there wheren’t those rules either, I guess. I’m trying to say I get where you’re coming from.” She looked down, praying Rosemary didn’t inquire further.  
“I just feel like there's more to being a woman than marriage.” She said, keeping her voice low. She frowned at the flower in the vase. She took it out and started to play with it.  
“I don’t want to get married either really, you won’t have to either, if you don’t want to. Maybe the rules are changing. I mean, Blackwell's never married.”  
Rosemary smiled.  
“That’s true. Let’s be old maids together.” She offered the flower.  
“Alright. We’ll buy a house and scare the local children.” Joan took it, tucking it in her breast pocket.  
“People will wonder, because we’re so beautiful, but we’ll never tell them. The local mysteries.” Rosemary grinned. Joan smiled at the thought. She looked back at Rosemary.  
“What do you want, if not marriage and society?”  
“I do want to fall in love. I want a beautiful and tragic romance.”  
Joan rolled her eyes.  
“You read too much Jane Austen.”  
Rosemary reached across, like a painting of a woman reaching for her lover.  
“Darcy!”   
Rosemary devolved into giggles. Joan laughed, in spite of herself. They were beginning to catch the eyes of the other couples. Rosemary pulled herself back together, still letting the stray giggle escape.  
“Come on, don’t you want to fall in love?”  
“Sure.”  
“Maybe not marriage for women, but a nice union. No rules, just love.” Her eyes twinkled. Joan wanted to say something. Her eyes were so blue. Just then, the tea arrived. Rosemary looked away, thanking the server. Joan went to pour it if only to have something to do with her hands, but Rosemary stopped her.  
“No, the lady pours the tea.”  
“Why?”  
Rosemary shrugged.  
“No reason. It’s a pointless rule.”  
“You’ve taught me the metaphor before you’ve taught me the rules!”  
“I forgot you’re not a society gentlemen. It’s easy to forget in the outfit.” She teased.  
“So what are the rules?”  
“Well,” She inhaled, scrunching her nose like she always did when trying to remember something. “You pay, I serve. You can eat with your hands but you can’t have fun with it. Don’t dunk your biscuits.” She added the last bit very seriously, as if she had learned the hard way.  
“How can I pay if it’s your money?”  
“You handle it, I suppose. Here.”  
She handed her the wallet. Joan tucked it into her pocket. It was slightly too big, and the crimson corner peaked out.  
Joan leaned in slightly.  
“And as your suitor that you’ve chosen, how do I behave around you?”  
Rosemary’s eyes widened and her lips parted in a delighted smile. She leaned in to whisper,  
“With barely concealed adoration, of course.”  
Their faces were very close. Joan leaned back, examining her silverware.  
“That’s official, you’re banned from romance novels.”  
Rosemary laughed. She lifted her drink, and Joan copied her, sticking out her pinky.  
“Put your finger away, that's not how we do things.”  
Joan did just that.  
“So many rules.” She muttered.  
Rosemary shook her head, turning her attention to her biscuits. 

Just as Joan was about to eat her last ginger cookie, Rosemary opened her watch with a small click. She gasped.  
“We have to go.” She said, standing up, her eyes wide with panic. Joan dropped the cookie.  
“How much time do we have?” Joan said, gathering her coat.  
“Two hours.”  
Joan paused.  
“It's two blocks away, you said.”  
“Correct.” She said, flagging down a waiter. Joan paid, though she was still confused.  
“It’s important to be on time for these things.” Rosemary explained, glancing out the window.  
“This isn’t on time, this is early.” Joan held the door open.  
“On time is late in the medical industry. Just trust me on this?”  
There was a skittishness in her eyes. Joan looked wistfully back at the cookie, wishing she had pocketed it.   
“Yeah, ok.” She sighed.  
***  
As they walked, They passed a pair of policemen, drinking coffee. Their badges seemed to glare in the sun. Joan let go of Rosemary’s hand, aware of their eyes on the two of them. Joan stepped away from Rosemary. The cops were focused on Joan.  
“Jo! Look, it’s the local paper! Maybe you could-” Rosemary turned to Joan. She jumped, startled. Rosemary paused, frowning at the sudden distance between them.  
“Are you ok? What's wrong?” She followed Joan’s gaze to the cops, frowning.  
“Nothing. I’m just nervous. What if I get found out?” She whispered.  
Rosemary considered this, then grinned.  
“Then I’ll go down with you. We’ll tunnel our way out with only our wits!” Rosemary took her hand, squeezing it once.  
Joan laughed nervously.  
“Stop!” One of the officers shouted. Joan froze. He walked up to them. He towered over them both, blonde hair catching light. He literally blocked out the sun. A cigarette dangled from his mouth.  
“What’s your name?”  
“Joseph Lucas. I’m from out of town.” She said immediately, her voice dropping an octave.  
They had rehearsed this on the train. Joan kept her face perfectly still. She didn’t look at Rosemary. Rosemary’s thumb traced up and down Joan’s hand.  
“Are you a boy or a girl, Lucas?” Joan felt Rosemary stiffen slightly next to her.  
“Boy, sir.”  
The cop looked her up and down, lingering on her chest and hips. Joan prayed her hair was all in her cap.  
“Are you aware crossdressing is a crime?”   
Rosemary made a sharp noise.  
“I am.” Joan’s voice was steady, but her hands shook.  
The cop reached into his pocket. Rosemary stepped between them.  
“I would ask you to stop insulting my suitor, sir. I doubt my father, John Jaylock, will take too kindly to that.” Joan had no idea how Rosemary managed to make that sound so threatening while seeming so ladylike. The cop frowned.  
“I thought they only had a dead son.” Rosemary tensed slightly.  
“I’m- I’m his niece, but they adopted me.” She stuttered. “Either way, he’d take some offense to this rude accusation.”  
The cop nodded, slowly. His hand left his pocket, empty.  
“Be on your way then, Miss.” He drew out the last word, like an accusation. He looked Joan dead in the eye for a moment. She understood the threat. He smiled, turning to walk away.  
It was only when he was out of earshot that Rosemary sighed with relief. Joan looked over at her. She was shaking, from fear or rage Joan couldn’t tell.  
Rosemary’s parents had never had a son. She was 5 years old when she announced to her mother that she was not a boy, but a girl in the wrong body, and would not answer to anything else. Even as a child she was unmovable. Her parents were accepting, but knew the world wouldn’t be. They faked her death, and moved from England to the big empty house next to Joan’s. They told the world their baby boy had died, and they had adopted an orphaned niece. Nobody looked into it. Nobody knew except Rosemary, Joan and her father.   
Rosemary tucked a stray hair behind her ear, glancing back at the cops. Joan squeezed her hand. Rosemary smiled quickly at her. Her voice shaking, she said,  
“Come on, we have a convention to get to.”  
***

The convention was a sight to behold. Dozens of young, intelligent looking men formed a line outside the door. Rosemary was right about the timing. They joined in the back of the line. Rosemary didn’t seem to notice she was the only visibly female person there. The men around them did, though. She was almost bouncing with excitement.  
“Do you think they’ll talk about the natural uses of medicine?”  
“Probably.”  
“I think it’s so interesting, don’t you? That nature has the power to heal! Of course vaccinations are a modern miracle, but the idea that honey can help sterilize is fascinating!”  
Joan watched her friend talk. She moved a lot when she spoke, but so much more so when she was nervous. Her hands didn’t seem connected to her words, rather like stray, pale birds that flitted around, pecking at her dress, her hair, her face.  
The other men in the line mingled and chatted about. No one ever stopped to talk to the two of them. Rosemary didn’t seem to notice the dirty looks they were getting. Joan suddenly felt nervous again.  
The two hours passed quickly, in her company.  
A burly man with a salt and pepper beard sat out front. When Rosemary and Joan arrived, Rosemary in front of Joan, he stopped her, and motioned for the man after her to go inside.  
"Ma'am this is a men's only convention."  
"Excuse me?"  
"We don't have space for tourists. We only have space for those who are taking this seriously."  
Rosemary furrowed her brow, still holding a smile.  
“But I have a ticket, I’m here for the convention.”  
He sighed.  
"Go elsewhere girl."  
Her smile looked more like bared teeth now. He took a drag from his pipe, glancing at Joan. She looked back and forth between them.  
"Sir I bought a ticket. I came all this way. You will let me in."  
Her feet were planted. The man smiled, then addressed Joan.  
“You can just leave your little girlfriend out here.”  
“I bought a ticket, I demand to be brought in.”  
"I told you, men's only."  
"It didn't say that in the program."  
"It was implied. What do you want here anyway? There are shinier things at the jewelry shop down the road."   
The man was a good foot taller, but Rosemary stood her ground. She stared him down, feet planted. Her face was dangerously still. He sighed  
“I don’t want to have to use force, little girl. We don’t have enough space. There's no reason for you to be here anyway.”  
“I’m here because I want to be a doctor.”  
The man laughed. Rosemary's face twitched. Joan peered in the center. It was cavernous, bigger than the train station.  
“There's plenty of space inside, you should let her in.” Joan said, with as much force as she could muster. She stepped between them, more for his sake than hers. The man didn’t look twice at her, but rather focused on Rosemary, whose face was growing redder by the moment.  
“There's no need for women doctors anyway. If you’re here for a husband, find a different place. If you’re looking to be interesting to a suitor, there's a pottery place down the street." He addressed Joan. "You might want to train her, boy, she's off her leash."   
Rosemary's composure burst like a tea kettle.  
"This backward institution has no right to call itself progressive. The medical field will leave you behind, sir!" She shouted.   
"We are the medical field, girl."  
"Then what a sorry place to be! You are a lily livered coward, and will never amount to more than some shoddy, bigoted institution!"  
“Go home.” He laughed.  
"Fuck you!" She spit at his feet, turning and running before he could react.  
Joan ran after her. She was panting when she caught up, but Rosemary seemed unaffected.  
“Are you okay?” Joan asked hesitantly.  
Rosemary stormed a few feet ahead of her.  
“I’m glorious, thanks for asking!”  
She was almost shouting. Joan looked around nervously.   
“Keep your voice down! Those cops-”  
Rosemary turned around. Only then did Joan notice she was crying.  
“Bigoted asses! I should have stabbed him with my hat pin!” She stomped her foot. She gave the distinct impression of a frustrated toddler. It would be funny if not for the real tears streaming down her face.  
“How can I help?”  
Rosemary sighed.  
“I don’t know.”  
She sat down on a bench in front of the local newspaper. Joan sat next to her.  
“I spent all this time and money to get here, and they didn’t even let me in.”  
“You can’t listen to those guys.”  
She angrily wiped away a tear before it could fall.  
“He laughed in my face! Joan what if he's right? What if they are the whole field? What if it's all like that?”  
“You've never once taken the opinion of strangers you don't like, what's the real reason?”  
Rosemary inhaled shakily.  
“Before Mom died, she asked to see a doctor who accused her of faking. She died from those symptoms. I thought if I was to be a doctor, that wouldn’t happen to someone else. But what’s the point, really? I mean If I can’t even be let into a beginners convention, how am I going to ever get into a position to save someone’s life! I thought I would be the first, but what if there is no glass ceiling? What if it's just stone.”  
“But Blackwell-”  
“What if Blackwell was the exception?” Her voice was thick with barely held back tears.   
“Maybe she is. But that doesn’t mean you can’t do what she did! If anyone can drill through stone with just their wits it's you.”  
“What's the point in making it, if I'm going to be turned away at the door!"  
"You'll start your own practice and will be the best."  
"I've been thinking and I'm not even sure it's worth it anymore."  
"How long have you been thinking that?"  
"Ever since my dad got his diagnosis. He has all the best doctors, and he’s dying anyway. Joan, I don’t know what to do.”  
She sighed, putting her head on Joans shoulder.  
She held her tightly, sobbing into her shoulder. Rosemary's hair smelled like lilacs. Her chin rested on Joan's shoulder, and her hands cupped her back. Joan held her friend's head with one hand and her back with another. She didn't know how long they sat like that, only that they did until she stopped crying. Rosemary was the first to pull away, sniffling. A stray tear fell from Rosemary's eye. Joan wanted badly to wipe it away. She put her hand in her pockets.  
“You can’t give up.”   
Rosemary frowned.  
"You can't tell me what to do."  
"But those center guys can?"  
Rosemary looked away. Her eyes widened. Joan followed her gaze to the sign that hung behind them, advertising the local newspaper.  
“The newspaper! We’ve got to go in.”  
"This conversation isn't over!"  
Joan stood up. Rosemary took her hand tightly in hers and pulled her into the building. Joan really wished she’d stop doing that.   
It smelled like fresh paper and pencil shavings. The room was empty, save for a young woman at the front desk, reading intently. Her brunette hair was struggling to stay in her updo. She stood up when they came in, her book falling on her desk with a slam. She was wearing pants.   
“Hello!” She said, grinning. She had an upturned nose, which gave the distinctive impression of a small, excitable dog.  
“You must be here for the short story submission!” She said, scrambling out from behind her desk.  
“Indeed we are!” Rosemary said, nudging Joan. She was too busy taking in the scene. The walls were covered with filing. The whole newspaper seemed to fit in that room. The woman’s desk was so covered with paper, she couldn’t see the desk itself.  
“Oh good! I suggested it to boost readership. The boss didn’t really think it would be a good idea, but he’s way too busy to care, what with the paper falling apart.”  
Her smile stiffened, like she had said too much. Joan glanced at Rosemary. She was almost smiling. She wasn’t crying anymore. Her heart must have been broken, but the idea of Joan getting published was making her smile. They were still holding hands.  
“I have a few questions about it, actually.” Joan said, tearing her gaze away from her friend.  
“Go ahead!”  
“When is it due?”  
“Well we’re doing it for the next three weeks. So, it's due either tomorrow, next week, or the week after.”  
“What are the parameters?”  
“250 to 300 words. Any genre, as long as it’s appropriate. No gore, no explicit content, etc.”  
“Will we be compensated?”  
“Yes! One dollar for each story!”  
“Is gender a qualification?”  
The girl frowned.  
“Anyone can submit, but we keep the names on the masculine side. Apparently it boosts readership.” She pursed her lips.  
“Of course.” Rosemary scoffed.  
Joan was getting excited, now.   
“So do I just send it in?”  
“Yes sir. We’d send back the story and a rejection letter, or no story and the money.”  
“You’ll be hearing from me.” Joan promised. She was grinning now. The girl smiled back. Joan took down the name of the newspaper and left the store in a significantly better mood.   
“Well, now your dream has hope of becoming a reality!"  
"I'm putting myself out there, so you can't give up. Or my story will be about a talented girl that threw it all away."  
Rosemary didn't laugh, although she intended it as a joke.  
"Maybe one day I'll work in a doctor's office as an assistant or something." She said reluctantly.  
Rosemary didn't meet Joan's eyes.  
“Lets just walk, okay?”  
“Okay.”  
So they did, arm in arm down that cobblestone street. Everytime Joan thought of something to say, she'd look back at Rosemary's red eyes and decide against it.  
Joan looked at the sky. The day had passed so quickly. It must have been after noon. She looked around the city, trying to absorb this view. The streets were so full of people. They passed a shop that looked lit by actual electricity. Joan pointed it out to Rosemary, who seemed amazed by the sight. Rosemary never said she was feeling better, but as they walked away, she talked excitedly about a party she had gone to that was entirely lit by electricity. Joan smiled, watching her talk. They were still holding hands. Rosemary swung them back and forth as they walked. She felt for just a moment, that maybe everything would be alright.  
***

Joan was so focused on her friend, she didn’t seem to notice the cops from earlier walking straight down the street. They hadn’t noticed the girls yet. The blonde one swung a beat stick around, chatting with his friend. Rosemary and Joan were just passing an empty alleyway. Joan could almost taste her heartbeat. On impulse, she pulled Rosemary into the alley.  
“Joan?” Rosemary said, confused at their sudden location change. She tripped on the uneven cobblestone, letting go of Joan’s hand. Joan turned around. Two teenage boy’s watched them, leaning against a wall. One was large, with broad, square shoulders. When he smiled, he looked like a wolf that had found his next meal.  
“Joan?” He said to the other.  
“Is that a girl?” He was tall and lanky. His face was gaunt with hunger, and his eyes alive with malice.  
The first looked her up and down, eyes lingering on the wallet peeking out of her pocket.  
“Whatever it is, it has cash.”  
Joan’s hand went to her pocket. Her breath was short and quick. She could still feel the ghost of Rosemary’s hand in hers.   
“Hey, hand it over, boy-girl.”  
Joan looked over at Rosemary, hoping for any ounce of bravery she had to spare. Her blue eyes flashed back and forth from the boys, to Joan, panicked. Only then did the fear settle into her stomach. The skinny boy took the brief pause to grab the wallet, knocking her off balance. Joan tripped back. It was all of Rosemary’s savings. Joan lunged for the wallet. The taller boy grabbed her hand and twisted it. There was a loud crack, accompanied by a flash of white hot pain. She screamed, gripping her hand to her chest. Something knocked her in the eye. The first boy laughed.  
Joan was suddenly on the ground. Rosemary’s voice roared, like it was underwater. Silver flashed. Rosemary’s hat slipped down her head as she waved her hatpin like a sword. The boys retreated. Joan’s head pounded. Hot tears fell over her face. It was all over in less than a minute.   
She watched Rosemary through blurred vision run to the cops. The blonde looked over to her and smiled, taking a drag of his cigarette. They kept walking. Joan closed her eyes for a moment, letting the pain wash over her. She shuddered. It was the kind of pain that drowned out coherent thought. Her brain reached for anything that wasn’t that boy’s hungry stare. Joan’s farm chores. The best cure for a cold, as explained by Rosemary. The ending of the last book she had read. The image of Rosemary, in her blue dress, smiling. Her breath rattled in her throat. The smell of dirt, asphalt and blood was pungent. She spit out a mouthful of blood. It gleamed, red and metallic. She rolled over on her back, eyes shut tight against the bright grey sky.  
“Rosey.” She whispered, staring up at the bright grey sky. Her voice was hoarse.  
Then, as if she had manifested it, she felt Rosemary lift her head, hands soft and steady. Calloused only on the fingertips. Cold water ran over her eye, the stinging adding to the rest of the pain. Soft cloth, then something cold as ice. Warm, steady hands pulled her hand away from her chest. Cotten, then gauze. She opened her eyes. Rosemary’s face was over hers. A piece of hair had fallen in her face.  
“You’re beautiful.” Joan murmured. She was so dazed she couldn’t tell if she had said it out loud or just thought it.  
Rosemary exhaled shakily.  
“Thank god.” She said. Joan closed her eyes again. She felt soft lips on her forehead, but only for a second. She opened her eyes, wondering if she’d imagined it.  
“Sit up.”  
She did.  
“Drink this.”  
She did. Cold water slipped down her throat.  
“Eat this.”  
A strange leaf. Then a piece of bread.  
“Stand up.”  
She did. Rosemary led her to the street, supporting her almost all of her weight. She was so steady, Joan didn’t want to let go of her. Rosemary gently set her down on the park bench, handing her the water pack.  
Joan held it to her eye. She wanted to look at her friend but waves of pain and nausea held her to her seat. Rosemary issued orders calmly. She never stopped moving. She wrapped Joan's arm with a sling. Half her hair had come out of her bun, her hat slipping back. Her brow was furrowed in concentration. Once she had done all she could do medically, she quickly tied Jo’s hair up again, tucking it under her hat. Joan didn’t remember it coming loose. Only then did Rosemary finally sit down.  
“Are you okay?” Joan asked her. Rosemary laughed shakily.  
“I’m okay.”  
“They took our money.”  
“We’ll figure out how to get home. Don’t think about that right now.”  
“My parents will kill me.”  
“We’ll say you- you fell. I’ll give you money when we get home, to ease their worries.” Her voice shook, but her words were sure.  
“So that's what the gauze was for.”  
She laughed harshly. Joan looked at her, but when Rosemary turned, she pretended to be watching the passersby.  
“It was very chivalrous of you, to put your hatpin in their faces.” Rosemary laughed, in her sighing way.  
“I wanted to try my hand at some suffrage jizu.” She said, slicing the air.   
“Oh, please don’t make me laugh.” Joan groaned, holding her head. Rosemary stopped. Her hands hovered over her, like she was afraid that if she touched Joan, she’d break her further. She put her hands in her lap.  
“Can I ask you a question?” Rosemary asked softly.  
“Go for it.”  
“Why did you go for the wallet?”  
Joan closed her eyes. She could almost hear the pop of his knuckle on her cheek.  
“It was all of your savings.”   
“You shouldn’t have gone for it. Your safety is always more important than some spare change.” Her voice was more firm, now, but her eyes were soft. She had blonde eyelashes.  
Joan shrugged. They sat there in silence for a moment, not quite looking at each other. Joan adjusted the water pack accidentally bumping her nose. She winced.  
“Are you okay?” Rosemary asked.  
“I’m okay.”  
“Maybe you’ll have a bump. Those look nice.” Rosemary said.  
“You think so?” Joan said, smiling in spite of everything.  
“Yeah, I think so.”   
Joan started to laugh, but it quickly fell apart into a fit of coughs. She rested her elbows on her knees. She saw the shadow of a woman pass them, then stop. She had high heeled men’s boots on. Joan looked up. The woman was so tall, her head covered the sun. The bits of white hair that snaked from under her hat seemed to form a halo like appearance.  
“I like your boots.” Joan managed.  
“Goodness child, are you quite alright?” The woman asked. Rosemary gasped. It took a moment longer for Joan to recognize her.  
“Elizabeth Blackwell?”  
“Do not worry child, I am a doctor. Might I see your eye?” Joan moved her water pack. Doctor Blackwell looked at it. She nodded.  
“Keep the water pack on. Good on you, for getting it on right away. Might I see your arm?”  
Joan lifted it for her to see. She eased it out of the sling, unwrapping it to inspect it, then rewrapping with remarkable efficiency.  
“Whatever doctor wrapped your arm did a remarkable job! You’ll probably still be able to use it because of him.”  
“Her, actually.” Joan said.  
Dr. Blackwell looked up. Joan nodded her head over to Rosemary, who stood there absolutely starstruck.  
“You’re Dr. Blackwell.”  
“I am. And your name is?”  
“Rosemary. Jaylock.”  
Dr. Blackwell nodded.  
“You saved your friend's ability to use her left hand, Ms. Jaylock. I like your style.”  
“You’re my hero.” She managed.  
“You are, she never shuts up about you.” Joan confirmed.  
“That’s true.”  
Dr. Blackwell smiled.  
“That’s not the reaction I usually get from aspiring Doctors.”  
Rosemary looked down.   
“Actually,” began Joan, leaning back, “She was just thinking of quitting, because the convention for young doctors didn’t let her in.”  
“Pigeon-livered floozers. They didn’t let me in either. They’re racist too.”  
Joan laughed, while Rosemary gaped at her, shocked and delighted.  
“Why do you want to become a doctor?” Blackwell asked.  
“I want to help people. We need more doctors that take women seriously. My mom died, because no doctors believed her.”  
Blackwell tilted her head back a little.  
"But you want to give up?"  
Rosemary looked down, shame coloring her cheeks.  
"Child, why did you help your friend here today?"  
Rosemary looked up, then at Joan.  
"I care about Jo. I wanted her- I want him to be safe."  
"Isn't that the greatest reason? Those Convention gentlemen are in it for money, or power or what not. You want to prevent suffering of those you love, and the rest of the world. The medical field needs people like you. You can’t give up, ok?”  
“Ok.” Rosemary sayes, seemingly just to say something. She was still staring in wide eyed reverence. Joan had never seen her so still.  
“Ask her to sign something.” Joan whispered. Rosemary fumbled in her bag for her gauze strip. Dr. Blackwell signed it, then handed it back.  
“Actually, give that back to me.”  
She wrote an address on it.  
“This is where I’m staying. Write to me if you like. I have an appointment to get to, but it was wonderful meeting you girls.”  
Joan looked up, surprised.  
“Such a charming young couple,” She muttered as she walked away.  
The girls gaped at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing.  
“I can’t believe it! Elizabeth Blackwell!” Rosemary said.  
They laughed until they cried, falling over each other. They ended with Joan’s head on Rosemary’s shoulder.  
“What time is it?” Joan asked after a bit of time had passed.  
“About 5?”  
“How on earth are we getting home?” She laughed.  
“Train! Then the carriage, which I already paid for.”  
“But we don’t have any money!”  
Rosemary looked down at her, a wide, close mouthed smile. She leaned in a little to whisper,  
“I never said we were paying for tickets.”  
***

They arrived at the station, or rather next to the station, near the tracks. Rosemary led her near some crates, hidden from the view of the station. They were facing a cargo car of the train that had been left open. Rosemary turned to her.  
"How's your arm?"  
Joan looked down at her makeshift sling.  
"Um. It's weird." She frowned, trying to find the words. "It hurts, like I can feel the bone being off and it, uh, hurts more when I move." Rosemary nodded, then looked over at the tracks. She looked back at Joan.  
"Are you ok enough for one more stupid thing?" She had a sort of grin. Her face was flushed, and her eyebrows raised. A kind of fearful hope. No, Joan thought immediately.  
"Yes."  
“Ok, we’re going to jump on.”  
“What!?”  
“Well we have to get home somehow!" She laughed, nervously "I’ve done this a million times."  
"Of course you have." Joan laughed in disbelief.  
Rosemary slapped her hand on Joan's good shoulder, eyes still on the tracks.  
"I’ll go first, then go on my mark, ok?” She grinned, in her convincing way, and before Joan could dissent, turned and ran, stray fiery curls flying behind her. In a clumsy flying leap, scrambled on the train car, holding her hat on to her head. Once she got her footing, she grinned at Joan, face pink with adventure. She waved wildly at her to follow. Joan shook her head, wondering not for the first time how on earth she had gotten into this situation. She ducked out from behind the barrels, running to the car. The gravel crunched under her boots, and just as she started to wonder how she was going to make the jump, the train started moving.  
Their eyes met in a moment of shared panic. Joan sprinted to the train cars. The wheels squealed as they began to move. Rosemary reached out her hand. Joan reached out her right hand, stumbling over the uneven ground. She grimaced, a fresh wave of pain circulating from her left hand. They met, gripping at the wrists, nails frantically digging into stiff cloth.  
“Jump!” Rosemary roared over the scream of the train.  
Joan jumped, eyes squeezed shut. Rosemary jerked her whole body back, flinging Joan onto the train.  
She crashed on the smooth, hard metal. Her good arm broke her fall. She rolled over. She exhaled, breath jagged. Her wrist ached. She gripped it, forcing it in a circle. It was stiff, but it would be ok. She opened her eyes. Rosemary lay on her back, breathing jaggedly next to her. Her mother’s dress was stained with grease, dirt and blood. Joan’s coat was ripped at the elbow. Cool evening breeze sang through the gap in the door. They both grinned in the dark.   
The metal floor was cool. Joan tucked her knees up, pushing the door closed with her foot. They lay there in silence for a moment, the shared breath of exhaustion.   
Only a sliver of light slipped through. It was a kindness, that silence. Only the low rumble of the train, and their own steady breath. Nothing seemed to exist outside of the traincar. None of the evils from the day seemed relevant with the cool metal against their back. Joan’s right hand and Rosemary’s left were inches away. Joan looked at Rosemary, who gazed at the ceiling. At some point she had taken her hat off and sat it next to her. Her hair was a mess, windblow and shaggy. Joan was hit by the sudden thought of how beautiful she was. It felt like a revelation. A grin slowly spread on Rosemary’s tired face. After a moment of silence, she started to laugh.  
“What?” Joan giggled.  
“What a day!”  
Joan shook with silent laughter.  
“It hurts to laugh!” She wheezed.  
They both laughed harder. After a while, it faded into giggles, then an easy silence.  
“You know what's absurd?” Joan said to the ceiling.  
“What?” giggled Rosemary.  
“I’ve been beaten, threatened, you’ve been rejected and soon you may be orphaned.”  
“That’s true.” Joan could hear the smile in her voice.  
“But I’m so happy right now.”  
“It's probably the adrenaline.”  
“That’s not as good of an answer.” Joan said, frowning. Rosemary smacked her.  
“Well why do you think so then?”  
Joan paused.  
“I think… It doesn’t matter what happened, it was more that it was together.”  
“That's more profound.”  
“It's a better answer, too.”  
Rosemary grinned.  
Rosemary looked over at her. Her grin had subdued into an easy smile. Joan smiled back. There was a moment of silence, just their own breathing in the dark traincar. Something made Joan look away. It was like looking at the sun, sometimes, looking Rosemary in the eye. Everything lay unspoken between them. It was the weight of these words and the cold of the air, maybe. Whatever it was, it gave Joan the sudden nerve to hook her pinky around Rosemary’s, her gaze kept steady on the ceiling. Her cold fingers brushed Joan's, and maybe that was words enough.  
Rosemary tilted her head towards Joan’s so the light shone of her face, closing her eyes, a shy smile on her lips. Joan wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to kiss Rosemary.  
The idea dawned like fog. Slowly, then suddenly there, as if it had always been.  
“I have an idea for the story I’m going to submit.”  
Rosemary opened her eyes. The light reflected off of them, magnifying their color.  
“What is it?”  
“You’ll like it. It’s a love story.”  
There was just enough light to see the grin on Rosemary’s face.  
“What’s it about?”  
“Well, at the end you find out that the narrator, who’s been going on about a girl, is a girl herself.”  
“A love story between two girls?” Rosemary had that same strange look on her face. Joan was most likely misinterpreting it in the dim lighting. Still, she suddenly felt nervous. Rosemary’s finger brushed hers.  
“Yeah.”   
Rosemary grinned.  
“That sounds like an excellent idea.”  
“You think so?”  
“Where does it come from?”  
“What?”  
“You said you draw from real life, where does that come from?” Rosemary said slowly. Joan could hear her own heartbeat. Suddenly the weight of the words were too much. She stared at the dusty ceiling.  
“Nowhere at all.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a Transfeminine person, so of I got any of Rosemary's details wrong please let me know! This is a bit of a WIP so constructive criticism of any kind is super appreciated :)


End file.
